Battalion Banished Read online

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  Copyright © 2015 by Hollan Publishing, Inc.

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  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, and used fictitiously.

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015941431

  Cover illustration by Stephanie Hazel Evans

  Cover design by Brian Peterson

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-997-8

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-999-2

  Printed in Canada

  Just for Ken

  CHAPTER 1

  HOW STRANGE IT FELT TO HIKE ALONG IN THE open, Frida thought, where any griefer, sorcerer, or other hostile could attack at any moment. The longtime survivalist shook off her natural tendency to hide, yet remained on guard. She had to appear unworried and assume her new identity—a subordinate to Lady Craven and the criminals who were terrorizing the Overworld.

  Somehow, human griefers had obtained the magic to withstand normal injury and to enchant dangerous mobs to do their bidding. Although Frida’s commander, Captain Rob, had managed to slay the powerful Dr. Dirt, his next-in-line—Lady Craven—had absorbed Dirt’s power and become even more fearsome. The sorcerer was continuing to systematically take over biome after biome by using her undead legions to threaten innocent citizens. Not if I can help it, Frida thought grimly.

  She walked briskly toward the plains boundary, trying to act comfortable in the borrowed gray skin that masked her olive-green coloring and family tattoo. Her usual camouflage clothing had been replaced with a red and white jogging suit, and her dark hair was encircled by a terrycloth headband—So not me, she reflected with a slight grin. But the costume would help her infiltrate the griefers’ hillside encampment and, hopefully, find a way to help her battalion overcome their evil zombie and skeleton troops.

  As she traveled, she rehearsed the spiel meant to convince Lady Craven’s officers to let her ally with them: “I’m Drift, from the Mushroom Island 6 griefers. We lost our base during that last tsunami. I heard about your cause and want to join up.”

  Frida knew she would have to perform a test to prove her trustworthiness. Her battalion supply chief, Jools, had equipped her with TNT and fire starter to booby-trap the enemy camp, but the explosives would also be believable griefer weapons. She’d just have to find the right moment to wield them, preferably not against civilians.

  She sighed. Liberating villagers and safeguarding borders was not her career of choice. She had been born a survivalist, trained by skilled women to fend for herself in the jungle. Her goal was simply to live a good life, undisturbed by the dark forces of the world.

  In better days, she had done just that. But now that the mobs had been rallied and unified by sorcerers bent on conquering the free lands, that life was over . . . unless Frida and her compatriots could prevent or win an all-out war. Better to be on the offensive than the defensive, she thought, glad to have undertaken a solo mission to stir things up. Maybe she could put Battalion Zero in the win column this time around. Still, she’d have to confront her opponents first, deliberately making herself a target.

  “I might as well call myself Bull’s-Eye,” she mumbled.

  Basically asking to be attacked reminded her of climbing on a horse for the first time. She and her pals in Rob’s cavalry unit had discovered that taming and riding wild beasts was easier said than done—but it was something Frida had always wanted to do. The ability to ride could certainly benefit a young woman making her way in the Overworld alone. Horses were fast, they could jump high, and—Frida had to admit—they were good company. She had never needed company before, but after riding with the battalion, she had grown used to the closeness.

  As unfamiliar as her solitude seemed now, she was enjoying the feeling of freedom that came from surviving alone. A chicken tottered into view through the high plains grass, and Frida pulled out her iron sword and dispatched the bird, eating it immediately. She waited a moment to see whether the raw flesh would make her sick, but it didn’t. Risks never bothered her when the chance of success was greater than or equal to that of harm. This larger risk, though . . .

  . . . would be worth it, she had already decided. She repeated aloud the sentiment that Corporal Kim had once voiced: “The only acceptable Overworld is a free Overworld.” Frida would have to leave that notion at the plains boundary, though, which she could make out across the dusky fields in the distance. There, Lady Craven’s underlings would be waiting.

  “I’m Drift . . .” she said again, as though to convince herself.

  Soon, she approached the border where open grasslands met rocky foothills. At least she knew the odds of skeletons spawning there: 100 percent. She pulled out her bow and stuck an arrow in the back waistband of her pants. It wouldn’t do to appear aggressive, but then again, a girl had to be ready to defend herself.

  The suspense did not last long.

  Th-oop! Thoo-thoo-thoo-ppp! An arrow landed at her feet, and then three more in a circle around her. They had flown from a dark thicket of spruce trees up ahead. “Do I have to be right all the time?” she muttered.

  “Identify yourself, traveler!” came a nasal voice that Frida knew well.

  Its owner knew her, too, but had not identified her—so perhaps the ploy was working already. Frida certainly didn’t look like herself anymore.

  “They call me Drift,” she said to the unseen creature in the trees, just as she’d rehearsed. “I have business with the griefer boss, Lady Craven!”

  A taunting laugh sailed her way. “But does she have business with you? I doubt it.”

  Already, Frida tired of talking with the cowardly griefer, Legs, who always hid behind any handy bodyguard. “Then come out where we can see each other, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  “Prove it to this!” the stuffy voice demanded.

  The next thing Frida knew, a cross-looking creeper broke out of the brush and ate up the distance between them. Frida didn’t want to waste three arrows on this mobster right off the bat, so she stood her ground. The creeper’s patchy green skin and hollow black eye sockets did not scare her off.

  Before it could get within detonation range, Frida exchanged her bow for flint and steel from her inventory. Ch-oom! The next best thing to avoiding a creeper’s explosion was to make one ignite.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” Frida called.

  Out of the spruce tree shade stepped a squat griefer with a large nose and three skinny legs. “You know of our secret handshake,” said Legs. “You may cross the boundary.”

  Luck! Blowing up creepers was how this bunch said hello. Simply by choosing the
right weapon, Frida had gained valuable information. She moved forward, past the burned spot on the ground left by the exploding mobster. It was all she could do not to draw her sword on Legs, the scum who had threatened her friends and innocent villagers so many times in the past. But a little restraint now would give her access to many more of Lady Craven’s minions.

  Suddenly, baby zombies surrounded her, grabbing at her clothing and all but holding her hostage with their stench. Among the zombies, only the babies wouldn’t burn up in the day’s fading sunlight. Frida balled up her fists as the tiny monsters reached out and immobilized her. Not the kind of restraint I had in mind, she thought.

  Capture was a necessary part of Frida’s plan, so she played along with Legs.

  “Please let me go! I’m a griefer, just like you. The last tsunami destroyed our island base and scattered our numbers.”

  “That may be,” Legs said. “Why should we accept you?”

  Frida struggled with the stinking baby zombies but let them hang on to her. “I’ve heard of your cause. I hate all those villagers, running around loose like they own the world. I want to join up with your operation and finish them off, once and for all.”

  Legs sized her up, then waved a hand at the zombies, who let her go. “This way,” he said and led her into the gloom beneath the spruce trees.

  Before Frida’s eyes could focus, she heard the characteristic jittering and twanging of skeletons fiddling with their bowstrings. She tried not to flinch. Any weakness on her part might cause them to fall on her like a pack of undead dogs.

  “Okay,” said Legs. “We’ll hear you out, stranger. Then decide whether you live or die.” He tossed some spider string to another human—his face as craggy as the foothills—and motioned for him to tie Frida up. “Make it tight, Dingo! That way, she can’t reach her inventory.” The sharp-featured underling lashed Frida’s wrists together and then panted as he went to work on her ankles. Drool fell from his slack lips onto Frida’s bare skin, and she cringed. Somewhere behind her, the skeletons shifted their bones, waiting for a command.

  Frida took a deep breath and launched into her made-up story. “MI 6 made a perfect retreat for our griefer ring after attacking villages. We’d get plenty of loot by burning out towns and then floating the stuff out to the island by boat.”

  “So, what’s not to like?” Legs asked.

  “Wasn’t enough. The villagers would just rebuild, and we’d have to reattack. We wanted to see griefers control all of the Overworld riches, for good.”

  Dingo grunted.

  Legs stroked his chin. “It does seem to be an endless task. But Lady Craven has a system now.”

  “I’m sure you can use another hand,” Frida said. “So, here I am, ready to help take back the biomes from the peasants. The people with the most power should rule them.”

  Legs rewarded her solidarity by releasing her. “We need someone like you to oversee the zombies on the western boundary. You’re on probation, Drift. Handle your first assignment, and we might move you up to skeleton duty.” He tossed her a medallion that would identify her as one of them—a gold pendant in the shape of the initials LC—which she hung around her neck.

  The job entailed steering the enchanted adult and baby zombies to the border at nightfall, where they could attack unsuspecting tourists, and then back to a cavern beyond the spruce trees in the morning. It seemed easy enough, but organizing the wayward zombies was like herding cats. Legs had Dingo show Frida the ropes and supervise her work until she got the hang of it.

  A few days later, they left her to the task and went to burn a village on the other side of the hills, where Lady Craven was waiting. “Don’t try anything! Somebody will be watching you. Do your job, Drift, and we’ll save you some plunder!” Legs called merrily over his shoulder.

  This was the opportunity Frida had anticipated.

  That night, she followed her zombie pack to the plains boundary, where she had hidden most of her inventory before meeting the griefers. The enchantment kept the mobs from considering her a threat, so she had no trouble leading them into a blind canyon. She rolled a large boulder in front of its narrow opening and left the zombies there, moaning, where no one could hear them. Then she retrieved her spare supplies and set about rigging trip wires and placing TNT charges by the light of the moon.

  After completing the task, she prepared to head for the rendezvous point to wait till daybreak and signal her battalion. Just then, though, an unfamiliar griefer in a baseball cap skirted the cliffside, his gang medallion swinging like a pendulum. Seeing him coming around the rock wall that hid her zombies from view, Frida hurried toward him, hoping he wouldn’t hear the intermittent groans.

  “Ahoy!” she called. “What’s up?”

  “Legs sent me,” the thin, long-armed griefer said, his knuckles nearly dragging on the ground. “I’m supposed to stay hidden and keep an eye on—” He realized his mistake. “Oh, darn! I knew I’d get that wrong!”

  “Nothing to see here,” Frida said mildly, turning sideways and pulling her sword. “Except this!” She whirled and sliced him clean through his middle. His saucer eyes rolled as his top half hit the ground. Then his legs upended themselves like toppled bowling pins. “Go spawn somewhere else,” Frida growled, and ran off up the hill.

  *

  Once at the appointed coordinates, she couldn’t wait to get out of her costume and false skin. While Frida was busy changing, a pack of zombies spawned nearby.

  “Uuuuhh, ooohhh . . .” they moaned like a disorganized choir.

  She noticed them stumbling in circles, ignoring her. When she removed the medallion that Legs had given her, however, they instantly menaced her. She put the pendant back on. They stopped. Again, she took it off, and they targeted her once more.

  “That’s it.” She grinned and replaced the chain around her neck. It appeared to work as a repellant, which would spare her dwindling inventory of ammunition or energy in a fight. Amazing! This was better than a splash potion.

  Frida felt secure enough to let herself doze against a spruce tree.

  The sun came up, and there was nothing left to do but bide her time until its rays cleared the opposite ridgeline and hit the ground at her feet. Frida could remain motionless for hours. She used the time to kick around a few ideas. One was finding a way to get to her family reunion this time around. She’d missed the last few by dying and respawning in inconvenient places. It was high time she saw her female relatives. She might even be able to enlist them in helping save the Overworld. If she could talk Rob into filling her vanguard position with a substitute for a while, she’d be able to do it.

  Rob . . . Roberto, the captain of Battalion Zero, was the other main subject of her thoughts lately. Rob had been a cowboy before spawning in the Overworld and putting together a mounted unit. He and Frida had met when he literally fell into her world from an airplane. She’d helped him survive his first days here as he fumbled about, completely unprepared for handling hostile mobs and boundary disputes. But, somehow, the tables had turned, and Frida had watched the castaway cowboy put his smarts to use as a cavalry captain, flowering as an effective leader right before her eyes.

  There was something incredibly attractive about that. She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Frida knew that Rob had feelings for Stormie and Kim, the other women in their group. Fortunately—and unfortunately—the straight-arrow captain knew better than to romance any of his troops. He kept his sights firmly set on defending Overworld boundaries from tyrants and their hostile mobs.

  As the sun dappled the ground just outside the tree line, Frida realized she’d been lost in her thoughts too long.

  She scrambled to her feet and fished in her inventory for a piece of glass. She used it to catch the sunlight and reflect it across the hillside, flashing the code Jools had devised. It showed where Frida had placed the trip wires and let the battalion know she was safe.

  Frida could only hope that her friends had arrived and seen h
er message. Then, once again, she hunkered down to wait until darkness fell.

  *

  With the dusk came the sound of human voices to the west. Frida got to her feet and squinted. She could hear whooping but could not see anyone approaching. She tensed; the plan was unfolding just as Jools had laid it out. The villagers they’d enlisted as ground troops were announcing their presence to arouse the griefers’ interest and to send their mobs through the booby trap. It was time for Frida to make her getaway.

  A cacophony of moans filled the air as the griefers’ zombie reinforcements were loosed in the villagers’ direction. Their cries reverberated off the cliffs and canyons of the extreme hills: “Uuuuh-uh-uh-uh . . . oooh-oh-oh-oh . . . !”

  To Frida’s intense relief, she spied her old friend and sometime adversary, Turner, riding his gray quarter horse, Duff, toward her at a rapid pace. And he was leading her black pony, Ocelot. How glad she was to have learned to ride.

  She shouted to Turner, who came close and threw her Ocelot’s reins.

  “I’ve got your armor, Frida, but we’d best get out of here first!” said the company’s sergeant at arms. He was a mercenary by trade but a soldier by necessity. Anyone who wanted to stay free in the Overworld had to contribute to the war effort against Lady Craven.

  Frida leapt from the ground onto Ocelot’s saddle as though she’d been doing it her whole life. She followed Turner and Duff, galloping like the wind, to rejoin her battalion. She’d never been so happy to leave her solo status behind.

  CHAPTER 2

  ONE DAY LATER

  FRIDA LED OCELOT THROUGH THE NETHER portal and joined the rest of her battalion on the surface. She turned the pony in a circle, taking in the snowy blocks that formed low terraces all around them. Above, the sky was a washed-out blue, broken by a few square clouds. The same color scheme lay beneath their feet, in a frozen river dotted with ice cubes. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she thought.

  “Nice place for a picnic,” said Turner, reminding his friends that their hunger status was critical. The mercenary, himself, was so thin that his many tattoos had collapsed into meaningless squiggles.